


Believe Again

by legallyblack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, PTSD, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Strength, implied Romione, sad then happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29294382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legallyblack/pseuds/legallyblack
Summary: Hermione learns to believe again after the war.8 tales of recovery.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Believe Again

_ May 2nd, 1998 _

_ 12:33 p.m. _

It feels as though seven years of fear have been lifted off of her. It’s also the first time she’s been without at least one of the boys since the manor. Harry had passed out from exhaustion in his old dorm bed, and Ron was with his family. She wishes desperately that she could sleep, dreamless, and just  _ forget _ . The logical part of her brain harshly reminds her that things still need to be done. There’s still a broken country around them. But she’s all out of plans to make. She watches people mourn their loved ones and for the first time in her life truly  _ despises _ how smart everyone thinks she is.  _ Despises _ the fact that she’s the so-called “brains” of the trio. Because if she was really that smart, Colin Creevy wouldn’t have died with a camera in his hands. Lavender Brown wouldn’t have been bitten by Greyback. Fred wouldn’t have died laughing. Lupin, Tonks, all of them. They shouldn’t have died. If she was so smart, she wouldn’t have let a madwoman carve the word that she now hated the most, into her arm for the world to see.

She knows she should be happy. She should be relieved. But it all happened so fast that she still can’t remember what it feels like to be hopeful. 

And it makes her nauseous.

  
  


_ May 3rd, 1998 _

_ 4:46 p.m. _

She sleeps for almost twenty-four hours, and she still feels exhausted. When she first wakes up in Ron’s four-poster bed, she panics. She thinks of kidnapping, of death, of losing both of her best friends, of torture and pain. Her hyperventilating breaths quickly dissolve into sobs as she realizes that it’s been more than ten months since she’s slept in a Hogwarts bed. Her aching muscles sear as she breaks down. She doesn’t stop when Ron’s suddenly at her side, murmuring incoherent promises about how she’s safe now, and how he’ll always be there for her. She wants to believe him.

She can’t believe him.

  
  


_ May 27th, 1998 _

_ 3:54 p.m. _

The three of them haven’t been eating. Months of malnutrition send them constantly vomiting after meals. If it was Harry, Ron would lock the bathroom door and she’d take his glasses off for him. If it was Ron, she’d pat his back while Harry made some tea for them. And if it was her, Ron would hold back her hair while Harry sat next to her, his company all she expected. 

Ginny’s at her breaking point with them, but Hermione can’t bring herself to be better. She isn’t really sleeping either. It’s as though every time she closes her eyes she’s met with deranged ones, a flash of curly black hair, and pain. Sometimes it’s just pure pain. And when she wakes up Ginny’s there, her eyes wide with fear. She attempts to comfort her by saying that she’s been through it. But Ginny hasn’t been through  _ that. _ Nobody has. The Longbottoms went insane after 8 Cruciatus curses.

She went through 14. 

Ron tells her that she should be proud of herself. That she’s a miracle. That she should be so proud of how strong she is. She doesn’t. She looks down at the blasted scar.

And she doesn’t believe him.

  
  


_ June 23, 1998 _

_ 10:12 a.m. _

  
  


The plane ride to Australia is silent. She’s squished between Harry and Ron and she feels safe. She stares out of the window and watches as the clouds swirl by. Just a few months ago, she thought she’d never live to see the clouds again. But she did. And she’s here. Ron is absolutely captivated by the muggle “flying boxes”, and she and Harry watch in delight. She’s with her two best friends, going to find her parents again. Things are good.

And she’s starting to believe it.

  
  


_ June 26th, 1998 _

_ 11:13 a.m. _

The three of them apparate onto her parent’s doorstep. With shaking hands, she casts the memory recollection charm on her Mum and Dad, and in their hazed confusion she explains—almost everything. She finishes and stands there, with bated breath, willing them to say something. Her father looks at her with something she can’t even place. He tells her to get out. She doesn’t. He yells it the second time, and she looks to her mom for help. Nothing comes. So she stands there frozen as her dad speaks with low rage. Her ears are ringing, and she can only catch a few sentences.

_ “You had no right!” _

_ “How dare you—” _

_ “Our entire lives, upended!” _

_ “Disappointed” _

_ “You might as well not be our daughter anymore.” _

Her heart shatters and yet she still doesn’t move. She stares, pleading, at her father. There’s a gentle tug at her arm. “Hermione, we should leave—” Ron looks from her to her father, worry etched on his face. Harry looks guilty. She knows why. She still refuses to move. “Hermione,  _ please _ .” He’s anxious now, afraid she might do something drastic. She doesn’t think she has the strength anymore. “Mum—” she whispers, afraid any more volume will set everyone off. Her mother walks out of the living room. Her father gives her one last look of utter betrayal, before walking out as well.

Hermione watches them leave and doesn’t know what to do. Before she knows it she’s running after them, desperate to make them understand. But strong arms wrap around her, pulling her back. She screams and kicks and begs for them to talk to her, yells at Ron to  _ let her go _ , but she knows it’s pointless. Ron’s crying too, but his grip on her doesn’t let up. It isn’t until he’s half dragged her out onto the front lawn does she give up. Harry stares wanly ahead, confliction etched into his eyes. Ron’s holding her and telling her that they’ll figure something out, that everything is going to be ok.

She doesn’t believe him anymore.

  
  


_ July 21st, 1998 _

_ 8:34 a.m. _

The three of them finally go to see a healer. Not a physical one, but a mental one. It was becoming clear now which scars were permanent. Hermione had tried her hardest to put off the appointment, not because she didn’t think there was anything wrong with her, but because she knew there was _ too _ much wrong with her. The mind healer urges her to speak honestly, so she does. She apparates back into the Burrow with a bag full of prescribed sleep, anxiety, and ptsd potions. She downs the sleep potion and throws the rest into the rubbish. The Weasleys watch with apprehension in their eyes, a shared question on how to help this broken girl.

_ July 22nd, 1998 _

_ 12:39 p.m. _

She’s sitting by the creek near the Burrow when Mrs. Weasley slowly walks up behind her, sitting down wordlessly.

“I’ve only killed one person in my life. And it’s one more than I thought I had in me.”

Hermione nods emotionlessly, staring head.

“Hermione darling, Bellatrix was a monster. What she did to innocent people—to you—was beyond cruel. And yet the difference between her and I is that I still feel the guilt in myself. Not that she’s gone, but that I took a life. I can guarantee you that she died feeling absolutely no remorse for all she’s done. And it kills me to see that she’s still affecting you from beyond the grave.”

Tears spill involuntarily from Hermione’s eyes. Still, she remains silent.

“It’s killing everyone to see you like this. I can’t even begin to imagine what you three have been through, but I know for a fact that you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.”

Hermione was openly crying now. “Credit for what, exactly? Credit for not being ‘smart’ enough to save all those people? Smart enough for spending a whole ten months not knowing that Harry was a Horcrux? For being so  _ damn _ smart that innocent people lost their lives? People like F-Fred?”

Mrs. Weasley smiles sadly, placing an arm on Hermione’s. “Credit for keeping my boys safe. If it weren’t for you, Hermione, I would have lost more than one son this past year. And if you hadn’t stayed so strong, I would have lost a daughter too.”

Hermione sobs, flinging herself onto Mrs. Weasley, hugging her tight. It’s the most emotion she’s felt in ages, and it feels good.

Mrs. Weasley wipes her own eyes, nodding resolutely. “I know it feels as though you’ll never be able to recover from all that’s happened, but it’s over. It’s  _ over, _ Hermione. And  _ now, you live. _ ”

Hermione nods.

She wants to believe.

_ September 1st, 1998 _

_ 10:53 a.m. _

She clutches her trunk tightly in her hand as she watches the first-year students board the train.  _ Kids _ , untouched by the war, who might have lost a loved one, but didn’t lose themselves. She desperately wants to feel the excitement she felt when she first boarded the magical train seven years ago. She supposed that maybe the excitement was just a kid thing.

_ She was a kid once.  _ She was supposed to spend seven years of her life hidden safely away in a castle, learning about magic and making potions. Hell, she still was a kid, in a way.

Harry and Ron had come to see her and Ginny off. Ron hugs her tight and she doesn’t want him to let go. It’ll be the first time they’re going to be apart for more than two months, and that thought terrifies her. The boys are set to begin Auror training in a few days, and she knows she has to be strong. She hugs Harry next, just as tightly. They’re openly crying in the middle of the station, but she doesn’t care. “Make sure to read all of the books in the library, Mione. Thanks to me, you never really got the chance before,” he whispers into her hair. Sniffing, she steps back. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, you know.” And she means it. He knows she does. She kisses Ron and takes one long last look at the boys. “Write me, ok? Promise me.”

They nod. “Every day. Every damn day, Hermione.”

With that, she nods goodbye before taking Ginny’s hand and boarding the train. They pass Fred and George’s old compartment quickly, not wanting to get emotional so soon. 

She knows she didn’t have to do this, go back. But it meant too much to her, and in a way, it was her own personal test. She _ was _ going to make it through this year.

She believed it.


End file.
